Our intention this week was to reminisce about the good old days by repeating our old five-mile route around Marlay Park, in tribute to a time when we took our runs seriously. This season, in particular, invokes a sense of renewal, a yearning for the paths to run and the resolutions to attain.
The lush grass and crisp morning air made it feel like endless opportunities were about to unfold, setting no boundaries on our aspirations and creativity. It was at this moment of nostalgia that I remembered the classic – Once a Runner.
Reading it again this week, this book sets the benchmark for distance runners in America during their college years – a scriptural equivalent, if you will. Most people might not comprehend this, but it is a particular enchantment this time of the year when Autumnal cross-country runs take over.
Once, we were those athletes, progressively building up our stamina to an ambitious hundred miles per week, all while engaging in the same type of banter and playful behaviour. It never occurred to us that one day, we’d turn into the seasoned road runners or the pious joggers we are today.
John L. Parker Jr self-published Once a Runner in 1978. He founded his own company and printed 5,000 copies after multiple rejections, never for a second questioning his running-centred narrative. For a long while, the book was out of print, until Scribner books, a nesting place of legendary American authors, decided to finally give the book the elegant hardcover edition it rightfully deserved.
My freshman year saw me inherit a terribly worn copy of my favourite book, latched together by several strips of basic adhesive tape. The remarkable premise of this book was part manual, part spiritual script, part amorous tale and entirely focused on running.
The protagonist, Quenton Cassidy of the legendary ‘Once a Runner’, is created by Parker. Cassidy is a student at the un-authentic Southeastern University, presumably near Gainesville, Florida. He is portrayed as a tall figure with his scant 167 pounds distributed evenly across his physique, as necessitated by his daily gruelling training.
The narrative is peppered with strikingly witty remarks, such as when Parker introduces the university doctor, Dr Stavius; famously known for an incident with Roger Bannister where he punctured a blister on his foot.
The book provides some of the finest insights into long-distance running, especially racing the mile and the agonising final stretch, where every part of the body battles the searing ache of the lactic acid, struggling to maintain the normality of motion and integrity of the stride.
It was these sections that left an impression on me in my initial read, now it’s more about Parker’s connection of “the runners” to the “religious jogger”, hinting that they might someday understand the twists and turns of fate.
These spiritual runners were esteemed by our kind, for they offered a small degree of understanding of their world. To them, we runners could only be likened to a small housecat compared to a puma. It is a stark contrast – the difference between stretching nonchalantly on a carpet and hunting fresh prey in the thick jungle.
The truth is, my earlier readings of ‘Once a Runner’ were through the metaphorical eyes of the puma, unlike the domesticated feline I might have turned into, no longer on the hunt for fresh pickings in the wilderness.
The title resonates differently with me now. It’s less about once being a runner and having an eternal drive to run, and more about the past presence of a once thriving runner that we undeniably no longer are.
Reflecting on my recent perusal of the text brought forth an increased awareness about ‘runner’s etiquette’- the respectful behaviour when being overtaken by or surpassing another runner. There’s more to this than simply avoiding an air of superiority or putting aside chit-chat; sometimes things necessitate deceleration.
Modern society’s issues stem from the common prevalence of runners utilising earphones, which results in a reduction of their innate attentiveness and comprehension of their surroundings. Although they might be mentally preoccupied with a major event such as next month’s Dublin Marathon, it does not condone their becoming the sort of aggressive runner Parker warns against.
Since it’s become more probable for me to be overtaken than do the overtaking, additional thoughts surfaced during my five-mile trek through Marlay Park. In the fortuitous past, whilst running alongside Dundrum South-Dublin Athletics Club, time and distance dictated all, with no room to decelerate.
As a result, we would inevitably find ourselves closing in on unsuspecting walkers and slower runners. We devised subtle ways to alert them to our approach: a slight cough, a pretend sneeze, or a gentle shout of ‘making way’. Appealing to their reasoning with a calm voice worked wonders.
In conclusion, revisiting ‘Once a Runner’ brought the insight that the distinction between ‘the runners’ and ‘devout joggers’ is not always as rigid as it might seem. This is exemplified by a certain passage following Cassidy’s revisitation of the Southeastern University track, years after his prime as a runner.
As he waited still in lane one, whilst other runners gave him quizzical looks, he attempted to recall the sensation. He recognised a tinge of it, confidently knowing that was all he would retrieve. ‘You can recall it,’ he reminded himself, ‘but it’s impossible to relive it as such. You must accept whatever pieces of the past you can find.’ And with further inspection on how it used to be on his second and third laps, he agreed that those bits of memory were usually enough.